Mine Would Be You (2)

Now, it feels like the memory of him sits on my skin, like the rays of a heat lamp.

It’s all over and all-consuming, but it’s painless. Which is nice.

I guess.

Though I’d much rather not feel him at all.

The feeling still makes me want to skip this unbearably crowded subway ride and crawl into my bed. Preferably with a sleeve of Fudge Stripe cookies and a large bottle of wine while Jenko lays his calico body on top of my stomach.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket as I enter the subway train, and a message from Harper appears, telling me she’s currently picking up takeout from one of our favorite restaurants, Soybean. Sloan always joins us, and it’s been our Tuesday night tradition for years now.

Since Harper and I work in Tribeca together, we often take the same train to and from. But some days our schedules are completely different. Sometimes I go to the gym in the morning and Harper sleeps past her alarm. I have therapy on Tuesday nights, and she does yoga after work. Hence our separation.

Tonight, I know that no matter how much I may want to, Harper will by no means let me wallow in self-pity over the feelings that the memories of Myles are causing. Instead, she will drag all she can out of me and attempt to make me feel better.

Because that’s who Harper is. My fiery, red-headed, we do not let our shitty exes get us down best friend. She also practically hates Myles, and since I can’t hate him no matter how hard I’ve tried, it’s nice to have her to break me out of my rose-colored memories when I need her to.

The subway ride home to our two-bedroom apartment on the East Side passes in a flash. Glancing around at everyone bundled up in coats and gloves in the warmer-than-usual, but still cold February in the city, I pull my old, black and gray checkered coat closer around my body until I’m in the warmth of my building.

I kick my shoes off on the rug near the shoe rack Harper insisted we have so we don’t drag unnecessary New York dirt into the clean space. The apartment is empty except for Jenko sitting on the windowsill of the fire escape. The exposed brick of the living room lights up as I flick on the lights and lean down to scratch him between the ears.

After shrugging off my coat and setting my work bag down, I grab three wineglasses, and while I wait for Harper and Sloan to arrive, I pour myself a large glass of the white Moscato that we all love. I shuffle into my bedroom and shrug on some large gray sweats and a sweater before placing myself at the counter with the TV playing another rerun of Sex and the City until they both arrive.

The smell of food wafting down the hallway alerts me to Harper’s presence before she appears in the kitchen. “So, I see therapy went well,” she chides as she drops her keys on the counter and takes in my very full wine glass.

I raise it in a fake “cheers” before taking a very long pull of the liquid.

“Swimmingly, actually.”

She just shakes her head before taking her long red hair out of the bun she had it wrapped in for yoga class. After setting three plates on the counter, she pours her own glass of wine, her eyes flickering up to the TV when she’s done, focused on the episode we’ve both seen countless times.

“I’m just going to wait for Sloan to get here before I bug you about therapy.”

I roll my eyes. “You know I’m not required to tell you about my therapy sessions.”

Harper gives me a deadpan look.

“Fine, maybe I’ll be drunk enough it won’t bother me.”

She clinks her glass to mine, grinning despite my blank stare. “That’s the spirit.”

Soon enough, before we’ve both downed our first glasses, there’s a quick knock at the door before I hear it open with the extra key we gave Sloan. Harper starts setting out the food, chicken pad Thai for me, spicy something or other for her, and curry for Sloan.

I take the liberty of pouring Sloan a glass and refilling the other two.

Sloan’s holding her mail in her hand, and she’s not dressed in her usual salon attire, which means she stopped by her own apartment before coming here. She drops the envelopes on the counter and drapes her coat over her chair as she takes a long sip of her wine. Her deep brown curls just touch the tops of her shoulders in the pink camisole and cardigan combo, complimentary against her dark brown skin.

“Hello, ladies.” She smiles as Harper slides each of our plates in our direction. “How was therapy?”

“¿Cómo crees?” I mumble in frustration with my lips on the edge of the glass.

They glance between each other before their eyes fall back to me. Both know that over the last week or so Myles has been at the forefront of my mind, that I have been missing him, so they shouldn’t be completely surprised by the words that I speak next.

“We talked about Myles.”

Harper frowns around her food while Sloan keeps her warm brown eyes focused on me and nods encouragingly. I take a bite of the pad Thai, taking my time because I really don’t want to spend any more time on him than I already have.

“I told her that it feels like he’s going to show up. Somehow, someway.”

Harper turns her gray eyes on me with the focus of a hawk. “You don’t want him to, right?”

“No. It’s just I haven’t been reminiscent, haven’t missed him, in so long. And it’s not like I miss him in a way that I want him to come back and apologize. I don’t ever want to touch him or be with him again.”